


The Chips Fiasco

by infinitrinx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, F/M, M/M, Poor Clint, in which i can imagine hawkeye actually getting into, so much crack, this is pure ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitrinx/pseuds/infinitrinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this prompt:<br/>mY CHIPS WOULDNT COME OUT THE VENDING MACHINE AND I GOT MAD AND TRIED TO GRAB IT BUT NOW MY HANDS STUCK AND PLS STOP LAUGHING AT ME THIS IS V SERIOUS IM GOIG TO CRy</p><p>as well as the<br/>"SARAH HALP MEHHH! MY KAYAK IS SINKING!" viral video. This ought to go as well as you expect. Poor Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chips Fiasco

**Author's Note:**

> My first Clintasha fic! Yay!  
> I write Tasrtricks too so if you're into that ship, check out my other works!  
> If you want to laugh with me at poor Max, here is the viral video that partially inspired this ficlet:  
> https://youtu.be/8oOPn1t0Wiw
> 
> Read and enjoy!  
> Trin

_"Sarah this has never happened and if I move it sinks lower... OHhhHHhh... Sarah, halp mehhh..."_

_-Kayaker Sinks into Marsh|"Sarah Help Me" the viral video_

* * *

 

Clint was having what was possibly the worst day of his life.  
There’s no need to go into details. Just know that it involved a Stark prank, stink bombs and exploding arrows that exploded something much worse.  
He had showered 5 times already and still… Ugh. Nevermind.

Clint’s stomach gave a tiny rumble and he patted it, frowning down the hallway. He was on his way to meet Tasha and Coulson for a briefing on their next team mission. But perhaps he could stop by that vending machine by the 4th floor, hallway C. It wouldn’t take too much time, 5 minutes tops.  
Besides, Clint was not one to maintain a punctual reputation.

That vending machine was literally the only vending machine in the entirety of this SHIELD base. The only reason why they have it is to feed the scientists. The scientists literally live off a diet of intern coffee and vending machine snacks. Level 4 is the floor with all the labs. Thus, the vending machine resides there.

Cline skipped up the last step, arriving at hallway C. His acute eyesight zeroed in on his next target; just down the hallway on the wall to the left. Clint stalked towards it eagerly. There was one last bag of his favourite chips. Maybe this day was going to get better afterall.  
The hallway was very much empty. The scientists only left their lairs-uhm-labs when the needed to use the restroom or eat non-nutritional junk food.  
Clint slid $1.50 into the coin slot with deadly accuracy, muscles tensing in anticipation as he watched the metallic coil of the vending machine unwind, slowly pushing his precious to teeter at the precipice to land in his hands (mouth).

Then the coil stopped. And the bag was stuck.

Frustration roiled into a hurricane in Clint and he struck a fist against the glass. The bag wobbled but otherwise stayed put.  
“AWH! CHIPS!” Clint whined, grabbing either side of the vending machine and shaking the entire damn thing because to hell with it and Clint was just too tired for this shit.  
When that was to no avail, Clint growled a frustrated gargle of choice words and got to his knees before the machine that ruled his life (and eating habits). He stuck his hand into the compartment where his chips should be and angled his body just so, shoulder pressed against the glass, right cheek smooshed like there was no tomorrow, arm elbow deep into a vending machine. He almost had the chips. His hand was so close! Just a little more, now.

Clint’s fingertips brushed against the bottom of the bag and he thought he could hear a choir singing praise behind him. He shifted just a fraction more, and… oh no. Ohnononono.  
Clint’s fingers somehow managed to push the bag of chips further into the spiral and Clint banged his forehead against the glass several times.

Well, it was definitely past five minutes. And Clint, the trained professional he was, knew how to recognise a lost cause when he saw one. Sighing deeply and standing up, Clint found himself yanked back to the ground.  
Something hot and weighty and squirming came alive in Clint’s chest. He tugged on his arm. It wouldn’t budge. OHNONONONONO!

Have you ever had those moments where immediately after you can’t do something, you have the compulsion to do it? Like when someone tells you to stop shaking your leg and now you’re so conscious that you’re shaking your leg that you can feel the need to shake your leg. Or when the seatbelt light on the airplane goes on and they say you’re not allowed to use the restroom and BOOM! You need to pee.  
Yeah. The second one applied to Clint right then.

The toilet across the quiet level flushed and something stabbed Clint’s bladder.

 

* * *

 

Clint had tried everything.  
He had yanked fruitlessly at his arm. He had twisted his body this way and that. He had even tried Maria Hill’s badass wrist dislocating trick but just ended up with a bruised thumb.  
Now Clint was pawing hopelessly at the glass.  
The toilet at the other side of the level flushed again and Clint really thought he was going to cry there and then.

But then his comm device went off and renewed hope sparked in Clint. Without even glancing at the screen (he knew it was Tasha, who else would be calling?), he moaned into the receiver, banging in his point with his head on the glass.  
“Tashaaa, help meeee…”  
“Uh… Clint? Are you alright?”  
“I’m stuck in a vending machine, oh god. This has never happened before and if I try to move my arm just ends up deeper.” Running tap water could be heard in the distance. “OHHhhHhh… Tasha, halp meeee…”

The Black Widow rarely laughed. She cracked witty one-liners with a straight face and occasionally laughed for a cover but Clint swore he heard her stifle a snort into the phone. Indistinct murmurings were heard in the background then Tasha spoke again.  
“Copy that, Agent Barton. Backup is on the way.”

A stab of pain shot up from Clint’s bladder and wow, his butt ought to be looking fabulous from the amount of clenching he’s doing.  
“Tasha! Help me…” He moaned, sliding his free hand down the mockingly cool glass surface of the vending machine. He left a sweaty handprint in its wake, letting his hand fall limply to the ground.  
“Tasha… Nat, I don’t know what to do! Oh gosh help me.”

Natasha snickered. She snickered into the phone. (!!!)  
“I’m on my way, Barton.”  
“I reaally need to pee, Nat. Oh god, help me.” Clint was shifting from side to side, trying to relieve the pressure in his bladder.  
“Try standing up.”

Clint got pushed off the floor again but, as expected, was yanked back by his trapped hand.  
“I can’t its too deep, Tash.”  
Someone across the hall was pouring a glass of water. Clint tugged frantically at his arm, wrenching with all his might. The vending machine wobbled and teetered and Clint did not notice its precarious lilt until it was too late.

“Uh, oh, meh, argh!”  
The vending machine felled like a tree, crashing down onto Clint only to be stopped by the wire cord plugged into the wall. Clint’s verbal flailing caught Natasha’s concern and she managed to sound not on the verge of laughter.  
“Clint! What happened?”  
“This is bad. This is really, really bad.” Was his only reply.

Clint pushed against the vending machine, trying to coax it back to the wall. But from his awkward angle on his knees and one arm elbow deep in the device, it was not very effective. It was almost an electrical pain, shooting up from his nethers and making Clint squirm in discomfort.  
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. Oh, Nat. OH NAT. Tasha, help meee!”  
“What do you want me to do? I’m already on my way.”  
“BE ON YOUR WAY FASTER! OH NAT. OHMYGOD. HALP MEHHH!”  
“Okok. Calm down! Listen to me. Listen to me! Clint!”

There was a foreboding ‘pop!’ from the back of the machine and Clint knew he was in deep shit. The vending machine crashed onto him like a felled tree.  
“OH NOOOO! O-oh no...” Clint cried on his decent. The situation just got extremely delicate because now there was an actual weight compressing his body and that was not a good factor for holding in pee. “ARGGHHH!” Clint wailed in frustration.

Natasha came bounding round the corner at the peak of his anguish.  
“NA-A-AT!” Clint bawled. “HALP MEHH!”

* * *

 

Jane was snuggling against Thor in the afterglow of their love.  
Their sweat was still warm on their skin, intermingling with the scent of sex and Jane’s perfume. Thor enveloped her being, keeping her safe, keeping her warm, keeping her happy. He pulled her closer into his chest and planted a loving kiss to the top of Jane’s head. She hummed in contentment.

Something chimed from their cluttered bedside table.  
A phone. Not Jane’s phone though. That was not her ring tone.  
“Tis mine.” Thor said. Jane didn’t realise she had said that aloud. Thor propped himself up on an elbow and stretched the short distance from their bed to the bedside table. Jane found herself missing his warmth which was quite ridiculous because he was literally right there.

Thor fumbled with the device for a moment and Jane plucked the device from his hands, forcing him to settle back against her. Unlocking the device, Jane opened the message from the Black Widow.  
“Tasha, help meee…” Came Clint’s pathetic mewl from the video the assassin had sent.

* * *

 

Tony was hard at work, tinkering on some new device specially crafted for him. Steve sat a short distance away, watching Tony work from his stool. They were in the workshop, where neither time nor the rest of the world mattered. In this space, there only existed science and each other.

Of course, Steve didn’t do well with science. So he sat on a workshop stool Tony had brought down (bought?) for him in his corner. This was his corner because this place was cluttered with his tools. Spread throughout the room was wrenches and gears and hammers and… was that a blow torch?  
But in this corner, his corner was scattered paintbrushes and charcoal and all his art supplies.

Tony would work and Steve would capture Tony in his work. Today, Tony was welding and Steve was trying to freeze the moment of pure ethereality when the sparks illuminated Tony’s skin, grafting the lines of his face and definition of his arms. The way Tony was completely at peace and belonging in the moment.

Their phone’s chirped at the same time.  
Steve slipped it out of his breast pocket. A notification displaying that Nat had sent him a video blinked on the screen.  
“Nat?” Tony asked.  
“Yeah.” He replied.  
“Come and watch on my phone. We’ve got the same message.”

Steve got up from his stool, stretched out the kinks in his back and strode over to his boyfriend. He draped his arms over Tony’s shoulders, resting his chin on his head while Tony deftly unlocked his phone and brought up the video.  
“Tasha, help meee…”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically while Tony guffawed.

* * *

 

During the next Avengers meeting, Clint swore everyone was looking at him funny.  
In fact, Clint thought that the next day after… The Chips Fiasco… the entire SHIELD was looking at him funny.  
Or maybe he was being paranoid.

Natasha’s comm device sounded. But her notification was not the standard ‘beep’. Instead, Clint heard his own voice pleading from the device.  
“Tasha, help meee…”

Everyone in the room vicariously burst into barely suppressed laughter. Even Fury was shaking his head and snickering. Heat was ablaze in Clint’s cheeks and chest.

He sighed and buried his face in his coffee cup.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> Do comment/kudos/share if you think me worthy.  
> Any and all constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> This has been utter fun to write and you can send me your weirdest prompts to my tumblr, also at infinitrinx  
> Love,  
> Trinity


End file.
